


Succor

by Taimat



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rimming, Spoilers for the beginning of 4.0, WoL is a friend's character, aymeric is a service top, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taimat/pseuds/Taimat
Summary: Chest tight, Aymeric goes to receive the guard that has delivered dinner, and it's covered, thankfully. Hopefully that will be enough to keep it warm while I'muir bathes. Setting it on a table, Aymeric turns back to the bath to find I'muir unmoved, arms wrapped about his middle like he's protecting something, and Aymeric's heart positively aches.“I'muir. Sweetling. What has you so distressed?” He can no longer wait. He has to know, he has to know how he can help, if he can help.“I'm sorry,” is all the answer he receives.





	Succor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sashimisusie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashimisusie/gifts).



When the rap on the door comes, it both is and is not surprising. It isn’t surprising that someone has come to his office this late at night; there is always work to be done, after all. No, it’s surprising because of the cadence of it. In his experience, there is only one person who uses that particular beat, and surely...surely he isn’t here. The Warrior of Light has other places to be. He’s off in Ala Mhigo, no doubt vanquishing evil and slaying more primals, last Aymeric had heard. So why in Eorzea...  
  
He doesn't get an immediate answer. What he does get is the Warrior of Light staggering in from the cold, shivering. The man has never taken to wearing proper shoes, though Aymeric is sure there are cobblers who can fit Miqo'te proportions, and it certainly doesn't help him in this cold climate.  
  
Aymeric stands quickly, striding over himself before any of his guard can greet the Warrior. He wants to be the first.  
  
“I'muir?” He begins, trying to get the man to at least look at him, what with the way he's hunched over still. And when the Miqo'te does meet his eyes, that golden gaze is dull, with tiredness or pain or both, perhaps. Aymeric isn't sure. But he can solve at least one of those. “What in Halone’s name— No, now is not the time. Come, my friend. Let us get you warmed up.”  
  
For his part, I’muir says nothing, which in and of itself is worrying. Normally he'd be stammering out something other other, or at least blushing because he couldn't make the words happen, but the only flush on his cheeks is from the bite of cold.  
  
Steeling himself, Aymeric nods. He can fix this.  
  
“A hot meal to my chambers, if you would,” he asks of the closest guard to hand. “Enough for two. It need not be fancy, just warm and fast.” Aymeric sacrifices some nicety for speed, sure that I'muir would prefer having something comforting in his belly sooner rather than later, and if he knows his lover, he knows that he will not mind the eschewing of formalities on his account.  
  
Perhaps the most alarming thing is the way I'muir seems to shrink into himself, and Aymeric can feel deep in his heart that it isn't from shyness. But all he can do for now is to place a hand at the the smaller man's back and lead him onward, hoping that he'll find out the reasons sooner rather than later.  
  
The moment they're sequestered in his private chamber, Aymeric drops to his knees before the Warrior, looking up into his eyes which are so hesitant to meet his own. And now he can see it clearly. The pain there.  
  
“Oh, sweetling,” he begins, “I would have you tell me every ache in your heart, every strain on your soul. But first, let me see if I cannot tend to your physical ailments and ease your suffering a bit in this way.”  
  
I'muir only nods, and Aymeric sighs, reaching up to run his fingers along that sharp jawline.  
  
“Let us run you a hot bath and see where that takes us, hm?”  
  
He leaves I'muir at the door, or tries to at any rate, but the Warrior follows him almost sheepishly, standing relatively still while Aymeric draws a bath in his bathing room. The water from the pipes is hot, and steam rises from the surface of the deep porcelain bowl, big enough for an Elezen, and possibly large enough for I'muir's much smaller frame to become completely submerged, should Aymeric let the water get too high.  
  
He doesn't, of course, being ever attentive.  
  
“By your leave,” he starts, “I would help you undress. Would that be all right?”  
  
I'muir swallows, opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps his jaw shut, shudders again, and nods.  
  
Worrying ever more, Aymeric helps to loosen the armor from the Warrior's lithe body, fingers practiced from the times they'd done this before. In addition, the Miqo'te's armor isn't all that different from his own. Buckles are buckles, after all. And when the last piece comes loose to be set aside, Aymeric starts on I'muir's under armor. The moment he reaches for the hem of his shirt, however, I'muir makes a pained noise and flinches.  
  
There's a sharp knock on his chamber door, and Aymeric sighs. Of all the times...  
  
He gives a quick kiss to I'muir's forehead, bidding him to wait just a moment while he gathers their food. I'muir just nods.  
  
Chest tight, Aymeric goes to receive the guard that has delivered dinner, and it's covered, thankfully. Hopefully that will be enough to keep it warm while I'muir bathes. Setting it on a table, Aymeric turns back to the bath to find I'muir unmoved, arms wrapped about his middle like he's protecting something, and Aymeric's heart positively aches.  
  
“I'muir. Sweetling. What has you so distressed?” He can no longer wait. He has to know, he has to know how he can help, if he can help.  
  
“I'm sorry,” is all the answer he receives.  
  
“Whatever for?” Aymeric's tone is soft, concerned, careful.  
  
“I...I failed. I w-wasn't strong enough.”  
  
“Strong enough for what, my dear? You're the strongest person I know. Surely—“  
  
“No!” The outburst comes as something of a shock to both of them, but I'muir powers through it anyway. “I'm not. I tried, but I...” He swallows. “So many of them died. I couldn't...I couldn't...” He shudders, then, the shudder of a man holding back tears, and Aymeric can stand it no more. He embraces his love, holding him close, and I'muir's ears droop and he hiccups softly. “In Ala Mhigo. I wasn't strong enough.”  
  
“Let me touch you. Let me bathe you. Tell me all that weighs on you, and let me soothe your soul as best I can.”  
  
With another hiccup, I'muir assents, and he finishes stripping himself down on his own.  
  
The moment he finishes, standing tall again, Aymeric can see what he was hiding. There's a new gash stretching along his chest and down to his belly, the pale pink of a wound that has been healed as much as it can be and must now mend on its own. It must have been horrible when received.  
  
In response to this, Aymeric drops a kiss onto I'muir's shoulder, ever gentle, and helps him ease into the bath. He does not question more. He does not pry. He knows that I'muir will tell him willingly as soon as he's been plied with hot water upon his skin and Aymeric's own, sure fingers lathering soap through his hair.  
  
And he does.  
  
He spills forth like a waterfall from a dam, bursting to tell Aymeric of their efforts to garner support in Ala Mhigo, to the doomed end of all their hard work and the arrival of an enemy that I'muir could not defeat. The first, mayhap. He tells Aymeric of all he's lost, of all his homeland has lost, and Aymeric aches for him and wishes he could be of more service.  
  
“If you wish,” he offers, “just for tonight, I will do my best to soothe your soul. To be a balm to your pained heart, my sweetling. Will you let me help you? Will you let me serve you? You can return to your troubles on the morrow, but for now, please. Let me.”  
  
And I'muir sobs, shaking his head as though he cannot believe the situation, then after a moment, giving a shaky nod.  
  
After a quick wash, ever careful of the wound on I'muir's front, Aymeric helps his young lover rise from the basin and dry off. His hands are gentle and sure. I'muir needs him to be sure. To be confident. And as always, Aymeric will rise to the occasion.  
  
He actually picks up the Miqo'te once he's finished and carries him back into the bedroom, depositing him safely onto the bed. I'muir sits there, towel pooling around his waist, and blinks up at Aymeric, trusting.  
  
“What would you ask of me, tonight?”  
  
I'muir pauses, worrying his lip, before tentatively holding his arms out. “On top? Wanna feel safe.”  
  
“Shall I undress first?”  
  
Another shy nod, and Aymeric complies. Though he wears armor as well, it is easy enough to remove. And once finished, he has no qualms whatsoever about climbing over I'muir, settling himself upon him like a blanket, chest to chest and supporting his torso upon one elbow so that he doesn't completely crush the smaller man.  
  
“Like this?”  
  
“Yes,” I'muir sighs, and it's the first happy sound Aymeric has heard him make all evening. It warms him to the core.  
  
“Anything you want. Anything you need. I'm here, Muir.”  
  
I'muir hiccups and clings tightly to Aymeric, slender arms and legs twining about him as the Miqo'te presses ever closer.  
  
“When we...when we started,” and Twelve bless him, he's blushing, “I was so much more than I am now. I'm...I'm broken now. I'm not...” He hiccups again and presses his face into Aymeric's neck as though he's trying to hide. “Do you still want me? Even now?”  
  
Aymeric's breath catches, and he slides his free arm under I'muir's back and tugs him close. “I will want you always.” He nuzzles into the soft, white hair and breathes deep. Clean soap mixed with I'muir's natural scent. “You've seen me bent and broken. You've seen me in failure. And still you stood by me. What kind of man would I be if I didn't do the same?”  
  
Aymeric coaxes his head back and onto the pillows again so that he can brush their lips together. “Would you like me to show you how much I want you?”  
  
“Yes,” I'muir nearly sobs, trembling in his arms, overcome. “Please, show me.”  
  
Aymeric hums in delight. “Then turn over, my darling. On your front.”  
  
I'muir does so without hesitation, so desperate is he for care and affection. And that, Aymeric means to show him.  
  
The Elezen does not spread his lover's legs immediately. Instead, he reaches for a bottle of almond oil that sits innocuously on his bedside table, returning to straddle I'muir's calves, much of his weight resting upon his own heels so that he is not too heavy. “Are you comfortable?” he asks whilst pouring out a measured amount of oil into his palm, then rubbing both hands together.  
  
I'muir gives a contented sigh in response, quickly followed by a gasp, then a moan as Aymeric begins to touch him. Fingers press and push at I'muir's shoulders, his back, his neck. Knuckles dig deep, and Aymeric's palms glide afterwards to stroke and soothe. Beneath him, I'muir groans and arches, his body going slack as he relaxes into the mattress.  
  
“Aymeric...” he mumbles, somewhat muffled by the pillow.  
  
“Patience. Let me care for you. You've done so much for me. Let me do this for you.”  
  
I'muir just nods into the sheets with another sigh while Aymeric continues to work, and like this, they pass long moments, until I'muir's eyes threaten to slip shut, and Aymeric finally drops his hands lower to knead at firm buttocks.  
  
The Miqo'te is slow to rise to the new sensations, as Aymeric had hoped, his body still loose-limbed and calm, though his heart starts to pick up the pace as Aymeric's fingers stroke up between the seam of his legs, behind his balls and higher, ghosting over the tight whorl of flesh with a knowing touch.  
  
“Aymeric,” comes the soft gasp, and Aymeric grins, pressing the tip of one finger within the tight channel of I'muir's body and beginning to rock slowly. Shifting, Aymeric allows the Warrior's thighs to spread, readjusting the pair of them so that his own knees part I'muir's. Thus bared, it takes little effort to push further and completely sheathe one finger in a smooth slide that has I'muir's eyelids fluttering, lips parting on a breathy moan.  
  
I'muir looks positively delicious, and the longer he looks at him, the more Aymeric thinks that he should have a taste. So he bends low to lick a wet path up the line of the Warrior's spine, sliding further down on the bed so that he can bite and suck at the base of that soft tail. The tail in question twitches and flicks, catching him in the face more than once and making him laugh.  
  
“Now then,” the taller man smiles and pulls his hand free so that he might grip I'muir's hips and tug them upward, spreading him as he goes and baring that sweet entrance further to his hungry gaze.  
  
I'muir, for his part, has only a moment to take in the new position before Aymeric's tongue runs hot and smooth along his hole. He yowls, unable to quiet himself as Aymeric plunges deeper, the slide of him slick and easy. Clawed fingers grasp and knead at the sheets, and I'muir's tail thrashes from side to side in pleasure. Groaning, he nevertheless does his best to be silent when a long finger slips in alongside Aymeric's tongue, the pair of them working to stretch him wide, opening him for his lover.  
  
“Please! Please, oh...”  
  
Aymeric chuckles and pulls back, pressing a second finger inside in lieu of his tongue. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need. You shall have it. Tell me.”  
  
“I want you!” comes the impassioned response nearly immediately.  
  
“And you'll have me, once I've made sure that I will not hurt you.”  
  
I'muir whimpers and shivers, knowing that Aymeric won't be rushed at this part and resigning himself to being ever so slowly stretched. He loses himself in the sensation of Aymeric fingering him open, lets himself drift until he's not quite sure how many fingers Aymeric has in him anymore, only that he feels warm and breathless and so very, very ready. His cock is hard and leaking against the sheets where it hangs heavy between his legs, but he doesn't move to touch himself. He wants this to last. He never wants to leave this bed.  
  
“Aymeric, oh...love...”  
  
That spurs Aymeric into action, and he withdraws gently, easing out of I'muir's body only to lean over him and press the head of his own cock where I'muir wants him most. And when his hips finally rest flush against I'muir's he pauses, panting. I'muir, for his part, gasps and mewls, and Aymeric has to bring one hand to his hip to hold him still.  
  
“Wait. Careful, sweetling. Don't hurt yourself.”  
  
“I won't, and neither will you,” the Miqo'te groans. “For the love of all that is holy, please move. I need to feel you.” And then, as though he's embarrassed himself, I'muir pins his ears back and hides his face in his arms.  
  
“Nay, Muir. Do not hide from me. I do so love it when you tell me what you want. Tell me everything.”  
  
He does start to move then, small rocking motions that barely pull him from the slick heat of I'muir's body. I'muir whines and bucks backward, tying to impale himself faster, so Aymeric tries to solve the problem by sitting up and back, hauling I'muir with him as he goes and coaxing the other man to bounce in his lap, which he does gladly.  
  
“Aymeric! So deep...” He pants, jaw dropping. “ _Please_ , more. Oh…”  
  
In response, Aymeric drops kisses along his shoulders and encourages him to move against him, helping I'muir rise and fall. The Miqo'te's hands go to Aymeric's knees as he scrabbles for purchase, but the taller man says nothing at the prick of claws against his skin. Instead, he reaches around to grip I'muir's cock tightly in his hand.  
  
“How do you want it?” He moans into one furry ear, nuzzling into I'muir's hair.  
  
“Deeper. Mm, slower. Gods, Aymeric. Make it last. You feel so good.” His last word is drawn out in a coo, and he rolls his hips fluidly down onto Aymeric’s.  
  
And the Elezen obeys. In this moment, he lives to serve his lover. Everything centers around the two of them, this bed, the sounds of skin on skin and their harsh panting filling the air. It smells like sex, smells like them.  
  
I’muir is whining and writhing, soft cries emanating from his lips. “Oh, _Halone_ , that's wonderful. Aymeric. Aymeric, yes. It, ah, please, faster. Y-your touch, it…”  
  
It's over far too soon.  
  
I'muir comes with a howl, painting his own belly, along with Aymeric's hand and thighs, and satisfied that his lover has found his pleasure, Aymeric chases his own, driving upward into I'muir with soft grunts. His release and the twitching of his cock within I'muir makes the smaller man shudder in the aftershocks, and he keens softly, collapsing backward onto Aymeric's chest.  
  
Aymeric slowly lowers himself to the bed, thighs protesting mildly, until the Miqo'te is draped over him, back to front. He's still trembling, and Aymeric strokes a hand down his belly, hoping that they hadn't aggravated the recovering wound too much.  
  
It's then that he remembers the food, long since gone cold, most likely, and sighs, rolling the pair of them to the side and withdrawing gently from I'muir.  
  
“My apologies, you came here—”  
  
“I did.” I'muir cuts him off, and the pair stares at each other for a moment before collapsing into giggles.  
  
This time, when Aymeric looks into I'muir’s eyes, all he sees is joy.

 

 


End file.
